Suche:c o r e system

Ever since the late 1950s bossa-nova revolution, Brazil’s influence on French music has been undeniable. Pierre Barouh, Georges Moustaki and a vast array of lesser known artists, all made the Musica Popular Brasileira (MPB) an axis of promotion at the service of a cool and metaphysical, modern and mixed Brazilian lifestyle. Some were seduced by the poetic languors of the bossa, some were looking for fun, and others just loved the American hybridization of jazz-bossa, jazz-samba.



What is bossa nova? One of its creators, Joao Gilberto said: "Its style, cadence, everything is samba. At the very start, we didn't call it bossa nova, we sang a little samba made up of a single note - Samba de uma nota so .... The discussion around the origins of bossa nova is therefore useless”. It is nevertheless useful to remember that these magnificent Brazilian songs, which the guitarist describes as samba, were shifted and balanced around improbable chords. "I like things that lean, the in-betweens that limp with grace," said Pierre Barrouh, quoting Jean Cocteau.



With emotion, arrangements for violin and supple guitar licks, bossa nova rapidly changed. A transformation that can be heard in the Tchic, tchic, French Bossa Nova 1963-1974 compilation, the result of a cultural reappropriation, which traveled through the United States and supplemented itself in France.

A musical revolution that has remained significant, bossa nova was born in Rio. From 1956 to 1961, Brazil lived through its golden years. In five years, the country had invented its modernist style. Elected president in 1956, Juscelino Kubitschek de Oliveira, an elegant man with a broad forehead, brandished a promising slogan: "Fifty years of progress in five years". He quickly got to work. Not worried about increasing debt, he launched the project for a new federal capital, Brasilia, designed by the communist architect Oscar Niemeyer. Volkswagen opened state-of-the-art factories and created the “fusquinha”, the Beetle. In Rio, the Vespa made its first appearance. The Arpoador Surf Club crew run into the “girl” from Ipanema, Helô Pinheiro - the tanned garota ("chick"), between a flower and mermaid, who at 17 walked by the Veloso bar, where the fiery author and composer, Tom Jobim and Vinicius de Moraes, were getting drunk on whiskey. From then on, bossa symbolized cool.

In 1958, Joao Gilberto recorded Chega de Saudade, which the directors of Philips denied, calling it "music for fagots". The marketing director, who believed in it, secretly pressed 3000 78-inch vinyls and distributed them at schools around Rio, creating a tidal wave.

American jazzmen then took over. In particular, trumpeter Dizzy Gillespie and guitarist Charlie Byrd. In November 1962, the Brazilian Ministry of Foreign Affairs funded a "Bossa-Nova" concert at Carnegie Hall in New York, inviting the genre’s pioneers. Unprepared, the show soon turned to disaster. But the troupe was invited to the White House by Jackie Kennedy. The first lady loved "the new beat" and in particular Maria Ninguem, a song by Carlos Lyra, later covered by Brigitte Bardot.

In Brazil, the 1964 military coup quickly ended this euphoria. The destructive atmosphere that ensued pushed many Brazilian musicians to leave, if not to exile. Thus, Tom Jobim, Sergio Mendes and Joao Gilberto arrived to the United States. In New York, Joao Gilberto met saxophonist Stan Getz. At the time, he was married to the Bahianese Astrud Weinert Gilberto, who had a German father. She had never sung before, but she knew how to speak English. Getz therefore asked her to replace her husband on The Girl From Ipanema. The Getz/Gilberto record with Tom Jobim on piano, was released in March 1964. Phil Ramone, the "pope of pop" was in charge of sound.

Bossa nova arrived in Paris through the classic “guitar-voice” channel (Pierre Barouh, Baden Powell, Moustaki…) But France loved jazz and Paris had already welcomed its American contributors. All these good people were to pass through Saint-Germain-des-Prés. The cabaret l'Escale became the Mecca of Latin American sound where one could find Pierre Barrouh and his friends, such as the Camara Trio, samba-jazz aces, whose only record was published by the Saravah label. With a band strangely called Les Masques (a band that included Nicole Croisille and Pierre Vassiliu, among others), the Camara Trio recorded an interesting Brazilian Sound, including the track Il faut tenir which is present on this tasty compilation of rarities.

Other enlightened musicians can also be found on the compilation, such as Jean-Pierre Sabar (songwriter for Hardy, Auffray, Leforestier ...) and the French pop rock organist Balthazar. In 1975, Sabar recorded Aurinkoinen Musiikkimatka on a Finnish label, which featured the crazy Vai, Vai, included on this record. We are now following the footsteps of Brazilian electronic musicians such as Sergio Mendes, Eumir Deodato or Marcos Valle who created funk and disco sounds on their keyboards and synthesizers. A style that influenced Véronique Sanson when she wrote Jusqu’à la Tombée de la nuit in 1969 for Isabelle de Funès, the niece of Louis and a great friend of Michel Berger - Sanson did end up singing this track on her 1992 Sans Regret record.


The pinnacle of exoticism and travel, Sylvia Fels’ Corto Maltese includes bongos, sea mist and ocean sounds. The title was taken from Jacky Chalard’s concept album written in 1974, Je suis vivant, mais j’ai peur (I am alive, but I am scared), based on Gilbert Deflez’s science fiction novel.


However, bossa nova extended the scope of popularity. "In the 1970s, I was a fan of Sergio Mendes, Getz / Gilberto. I fell in love with this music that I knew because I had been an orchestral singer, " explained Isabelle Aubret, who in 1971 delivered a composite record of covers by the very funky Jorge Ben, Orfeu Negro, Tom Jobim, Vinicius de Morais and Jean Ferrat. "I recorded this album for Meys Records in Paris, far from Brazil, with wonderful musicians, François Raubert, Roland Vincent, Alain Goraguer...". The latter wrote the arrangements for Casa Forte, a very percussive title borrowed from Edu Lobo, one of the initiators of the bossa who spent time in California. "Jazz and bossa came together and produced very rhythmic music. I love singing, it allows me to dream, to have fun, to feel a high on stage, and these songs brought me joy, made me swing, my singing felt like a dance.”


The world tours of French singers and their desire for the tropics, often brought them to Rio with its hills, forests, caipirinhas and tanned bodies. There are surprises though, like this Iemenja (Iemenja is the goddess of the sea in the Afro-Brazilian candomblé religion). Not unlike the composer and musician Jean-Pierre Lang, based in Sao Paulo, Claire Chevalier taught Brazil to Brazil. In 1970, the singer and painter published a 45-inch vinyl, Mon mari et mes amants (My husband and my lovers), under the improbable pseudonym of Clarinha (little Claire). She was then living in Rio, with her husband, Joël Leibovitz, who founded a band called Azimuth, and who owned a record label specialized in "sambas enredos" songs for samba school parades.


For its B side, she asked Pierre Perret to come up with lyrics for a song composed by Carlos Imperial: "Oh goddess of the sea, o goddess Iemenja, I bring a white rose to adorn your long hair ..." . "Perret came to see us, and we had fun, remembers Joël Leibovitz. We wrote Lemenja for fun, we recorded it at the Havaí studio, behind the Central do Brasil the central station. Erlon Chaves, the arranger who worked with Elis Regina, joined us" adding his share of Afro-Brazilian percussions and funky brass to the mix.

There is a common misunderstanding in Franco-Brazilian history: that bossa, admittedly hedonistic, is perceived as funny, even though the poets who wrote the texts are often philosophizing on the human condition. Its French interpreters pull it towards a carnival inspired universe, far removed from its fundamental essence. Thus, Jean Constantin covered the famous Samba da minha terra, an ode to the art of samba written by the classic Bahian composer Dorival Caymmi, renaming it with the enticing title of Pas tant de tchi tchi pompon: "On your pier there is no tchi tchi / when you arch your back, you know everything is alright ”(lyrics by Gérard Calvi). This expedited bossa aims for the absurd, but retains a certain elegance.

Indeed, Jean Constantin was not an idiot, the rather large man had a huge mustache and liked fantasy, (Les pantoufles à papa, Le pacha, inspired by cha-cha-cha-cha, salsa and jazz) but he was also the lyricist of Mon manège à moi interpreted by Edith Piaf, the composer of Mon Truc en plume by Zizi Jeanmaire and the soundtrack of François Truffaut’s 400 Blows. Le Poulpe, published in 1970, from which this bossa is extract, was arranged by Jean-Claude Vannier, an accomplice of Serge Gainsbourg’s Melody Nelson. In short: "There is enough of samba / By looking at the parasol / Because my poor cabeza / Is going to die in the sun".

Even the American actress Marpessa Down, who was at the heart of the bossa nova revolution with her role as Euridyce in Marcel Camus’ film Orfeu Negro, winner of the 1959 Cannes Palme d'or, fed the clichée with Je voudrais parler au petit cuica - "Tell me how you manage to always make people want to dance / It's true, I must admit that I cannot resist your magic" - in consequence, once can hear the cuica, a little drum inherited from the Bantu.


But bossa nova had many angles. Societal, of course, pushing actresses who were symbols of women's liberation like Brigitte Bardot, Jeanne Moreau, or Sophia Loren to engage in the exercise of accelerated bossa. In February of 1963, Sophia Loren made a record in French in Rome, Je ne t'aime plus, featuring the song De jour en jour, a bossa written by two Italians, Armando Trovajoli and Tino Fornai, which was released a little later by Barclay. Bossa accompanied the 1960s, a decade of moral liberation. Ann Sorel, who interpreted La Poupée des favellas, caused a sensation with L’amour à plusieurs, a provocative song written by Frédéric Bottom and Jean-Claude Vannier. As for the actress Andrea Parisy, she displayed her bourgeois cheekiness in Marcel Carné's Les Tricheurs before interpreting Les mains qui font du bien. And Magalie Noël, the friend of Boris Vian, who sung Johnny fais-moi mal, was hired to sing Une énorme Samba, composed by Alain Goraguer (arranger to Gainsbourg, Bobby Lapointe and Jean Ferrat) with lyrics by Frédéric Botton.

But in the end, of what wood is bossa nova made of? The answer is given by Christianne Legrand, daughter of Raymond the conductor, and sister to Michel the composer: "With me, with jà" - jà means "immediately" in Portuguese. In 1972, the singer, an expert in vocal jazz and a member of the Double Six, published Le Brésil de Christianne Legrand. Two songs included on the Tchic Tchic compilation that demonstrate how bossa, jazz, funk, rock, etc. work like a swiss army knife: the music is used to denounce broken systems, or miracles, HLM et ciné roman, Cent mille poissons dans ton filet, two songs from the O Cafona soundtrack, a successful telenovela broadcast, at the time in black and white, on TV Globo. The first was adapted in French by the fighter and friend of the Legrand tribe, Agnès Varda. The second is content with a play on words, jostling them into a summer fun.



Véronique Mortaigne

With Dispersion, Loom & Thread return to the volatile architecture of the expanded piano trio - and quietly fracture it from within.

Daniel Klein (drums), Tobias Fröhlich (double bass) and Tom Schneider (keys, sampler) remain the sole agents on stage and in the final recording. The triangle holds. And yet, the field has expanded. For their second studio album, the trio fed their improvisations with the timbral signatures of guest saxophone and vibraphone players - not just as additional voices to be featured, but also as material to be absorbed, atomized and redistributed. The result is not augmentation but thorough refraction.

Where the debut album explored the recursive labyrinth of Schneider's live sampling of his own piano, Dispersion introduces an external grain into the feedback system. Breath and metal. Reed turbulence and struck resonance. The trio sampled extended improvisations by saxophone and vibes players: Victor Fox, Asger Nissen, Volker Heuken, and L&T's own Daniel Klein; dissected their attacks, overtones and decay curves, and integrated these fragments into the trio's internal circuitry. What emerges is a play of presences without bodies - instrumental ghosts circulating through the dense weave of rhythm and keys.

At first, one might hear the familiar relational tension: Klein's polyrhythmic elasticity interlocking with Fröhlich's tensile double bass figurations, Schneider poised at the hinge between tonal field and percussive impulse. But soon, the surface splinters - again. A vibraphone shimmer appears, yet no mallets are visible. A reed multiphonic surges through the texture, bending space between bass and drums. These events are neither quotations nor overlays; they are redistributed energies, dispersed across the trio's grammar. A digital multidimensional interplay ensues.

If the first album unfolded as a two-tiered game - live phrase and sampled reflection - Dispersion adds a further axis. The sampled materials from other improvisers are stripped of their erstwhile two-way interaction and reconstituted as malleable particles. Signifier detached from origin, resonance detached from gesture. The trio navigates a constantly shifting topology in which acoustic memory and electronic manipulation are indistinguishable.

Crucially, the album never abandons the physical urgency of three musicians reacting in real time. The additional timbral layers do not thicken the texture into opacity; rather, they introduce stark points and arrows of diffraction. Density opens into prismatic clarity. Lines splinter and regroup. What seems like a quartet or quintet collapses back into three bodies negotiating an expanded field.

Dispersion is not about addition but about distribution - of agency, of timbre, of temporal perspective. It is an album in which the trio setting becomes a site of multiplicity without surrendering its immediacy. A dissolution not only of the divide between present experience and memory, but between inside and outside, self and other.

Three musicians. Countless vectors. A music that fractures in order to cohere.

CREDITS:
Tom Schneider: piano & sampler
Tobi Fröhlich: double bass
Daniel Klein: drums & percussion

sample sources:
Victor Fox: tenor saxophone
Asger Nissen: alto saxophone
Volker Heuken: vibes
Daniel Klein: vibes

Recorded by Martin Dressler at Bauer Studios, Ludwigsburg.
Mixed & mastered by Martin Ruch.
Artwork by Viet Hoa Le.

Analog Tara’s Life of the Mother is a sonic meditation on the depth, expansiveness, complexity, and power that this phrase holds. This album is made from layers of generative processes and interactions with them. Analog Tara uses a Zillion sequencer and Xone mixer as system guides, and sounds of the ARP 2500, Jealous Heart, Access Virus, Oberheim OB-6, Jomox XBase, Moog DFAM, and more to create a compelling electronic narrative.

Composed, recorded + mixed by Tara Rodgers. Mastered by Piper Payne, assisted by Colby Gustafson, at Neato Mastering in Nashville, TN. Art by Jackie Milad, She Goes Ancient, mixed media, 2019.

Hailing from North-west UK, singer and producer Joe Yorke is classed as one of the most promising UK reggae artists of his generation. His exceptional and unique falsetto voice paired with his profound and poetic lyrics have caught the attention of some of the best producers and labels and an ever-growing fanbase. Joe has entered the stage with support from reggae/dub legends such as David Rodigan, Don Letts, Dennis Bovell, Nick Manasseh and Stand High Patrol. His latest single comes via Steppas Records in collaboration with upcoming UK dub producer Yaksha, “Rocking Ship” is a poignant and compassionate commentary on the plight of refugees. Mixed by Alpha Steppa, featuring a heavyweight, stripped back dub mix for company. A crucial 7” for collectors, home listening and sound systems alike.

Cloud Management return to Altin Village & Mine for a unique collaboration with New York writer and creative polymath Vivien Goldman.

A pairing spanning generations and geography, but with a musical overlap that is quite fitting in both process and result. Cloud Management’s jammy, improvisational approach to their dubby electronics blends well with Goldman’s idiosyncratic vocal style, which has its origins in the early days of post–punk and UK dub experimentalism. Cloud Management blend many historical aspects of German electronic music into something distinctly their own, while retaining a view well beyond those borders or any particular era. This approach fits well with Goldman’s deep multidisciplinary career, not easily defined because of its eclectic abundance across disciplines, yet always orbiting around music as its foundation.

When it comes down to it, these are great tracks created in the same way they sound: loose but refined, circling and turning inwards and outwards, back onto themselves. A dub of a dub of a dub, but never falling too far from the source — the minimalism necessary to deliver a direct, steady resolve and a gripping listen.

The B–Side of the record features three remixes by artists from across the globe, all with strong connections to the front line of dancehall, dub, and electronic music experimentalism. Longtime Equiknoxx member Time Cow from Kingston (Jamaica), delivers a version of »Quick Cover Up« that represents a major overhaul of the original. This remix strips away much of the looseness of the source material and leans into a lush yet slightly darker atmosphere, created by layered synths and a masterful use of underlying percussion and melodic stabs.

Up next are Twin Cities, Minnesota–based Feel Free Hi Fi, who take on »Judge Judge.« The duo tighten things up, overlaying weighty vintage string synths and digi–flute melodies. This version feels designed for smoky, late–night dub sound system sessions, harkening back to dub’s foundations.

Last but not least is London’s Pat Orburn. Stripped way down, the remix rides an interplay between alternating minimalism and a more lo-fi but lush exuberance, somewhat reminiscent of a bossa nova–esque minimal synth sound. This version’s lo–fi pop sensibility provides a fitting contrast and completes an eclectic yet copacetic trio of remixes for the record.

The Owl (real name John Deevechis) has long used his Owl imprint to deliver high-grade, inventive and irrepressibly addictive re-edits. Here, the York-based producer hands over the reins to the previously unheard Nite Hawk, an artist whose identity has so far been a closely guarded secret. Our shadowy hero begins with the superb 'Disco System', an infectious, effects-laden revision of a low-slung, turn of the 80s disco workout rich in dubbed-out vocal samples, super-funky bass and piano loops, and tease-and-release dynamics that only add to the track's inherent energy. On flip-side 'Search Lite', Nite Hawk makes merry with a boogie-era workout, turning it into a glorious fusion of non-stop dub disco bass, rolling house beats and chanted vocal snippets.

The Illegal Disco Limited series never misses. It's all about the king of cheeky edits adding his own spin to a carefully curated mix of disco and funk nuggets and, once again, here Monsieur Van Pratt is back with the goods. Though he always nods to the past with these reworks, he beefs them up with grooves designed for loud systems and to move floors. This one opens with the funk licks and disco stylings of 'Watcha Gonna Do' then gets celebratory with the feel good hands in the air vibes of 'The Contest'. Last but not least, 'Dance With Me' explores a more lavish sound with big vocals and lavish string stabs for good times only. Another doozy from Mr Pratt.

José González has delivered a new album, Against the Dying of the Light, a companion and further meditation on the themes of his critically acclaimed album, Local Valley. Where Local Valley turned inward toward place, language, and personal reflection, this new record widens its gaze, becoming an urgent call to preserve the light of humanity with all its flaws, at a moment when, technology increasingly shapes how we think, feel, and relate to one another.

While José has always embraced technological advancement, he questions the assumption that every new possibility must be pursued to its maximum potential, especially when progress comes at the expense of human flourishing, attention, and empathy.

Keeping in the tradition of folk music as protest, José’s new single — sharing its title with the forthcoming album — urges listeners to resist systems that dehumanize and divide: “Disconnect from every algorithm, every perverse incentive that drags you down. Let’s rebel against the replicators, against the dying of the light. Kill the codes that feed the hate, keep the codes that make you thrive, celebrate the **king fact that we’re alive.”

Across the album, González works within a deliberately minimal framework, pushing his familiar palette to new heights through subtle variation, restraint, and detail. Each song unfolds with its own distinct character, proving how much emotional and musical range can be achieved within self - imposed limitations. Written in English, Swedish, and Spanish, the record reflects his Swedish - Argentine roots and frames its humanist message as a global one rather than a purely personal or political statement.

José González is one of the most quietly influential artists of our generation. The Swedish - Argentine artist has built a singular musical world from hypnotic, minimal guitar work and his unmistakably gentle voice — a sound that has become deeply personal to millions of listeners worldwide. With billions of streams across platforms and hundreds of thousands of physical records sold, González’s songs often act as emotional landmarks. Ask almost anyone, and they can name at least one of his tracks tied to a defining moment in their lives.

Some years ago, Kjell Bjørgeengen and Keith Rowe attempted to convert video signals into sound by setting up Rowe’s pickups next to an old CRT monitor, turning its magnetic field into a sound generator. Rowe further developed the system with David Jones at Alfred University, slimming down the setup using a copper coil, a circuit board, a video input, and a telephone pickup. Jones named it the »Flood Coil«, and it’s that instrument you can see on the album’s front cover and that lies at the core of these recordings, made without any physical live input from the artists themselves. In essence, it’s generative music in its purest form.

Bjørgeengen’s video feed is generated by oscillators, then routed into Marhaug’s pedals and then back into the Flood Coil, so any visual shifts alter the sound, and any modification to the sound changes the video. The duo have played this setup live many times, but for this studio version they left the system to do its thing without any intervention for two minutes at a time before moving onto the next idea. They recorded hours and hours using this process and then selected 18 highlights for this album, extracting harsh noise, power electronics, lulling feedback drone, and peculiar rhythmic snippets to show the scope of their technique.

A wall of growling, hi-octane Pulse Demon-style noise opens the set, gradually exposing us to more asymmetric textures, shifting through unstable repetitions that transform Merzbow’s metal-inspired screams into »Aaltopiiri«-era rhythmic noise. It’s remarkable, actually, how much Marhaug and Bjørgeengen can squeeze from the system, chancing on shivering, lower-case chugs and pops, galloping drums, soundsystem subs, and grinding blast beats that sound like Napalm Death’s »Scum« piped through a broken amp stack. It ain’t pretty, but noise/industrial freaks will revel in the fierce delights inside.

UILTY RAZORS, BONA FIDE PUNKS.



Writings on the topic that go off in all directions, mind-numbing lectures given by academics, and testimonies, most of them heavily doctored, from those who “lived through that era”: so many people today fantasize about the early days of punk in our country… This blessed moment when no one had yet thought of flaunting a ridiculous green mohawk, taking Sid Vicious as a hero, or – even worse – making the so-called alternative scene both festive and boorish. There was no such thing in 1976 or 1977, when it wasn’t easy to get hold of the first 45s by the Pistols or the Clash. Few people were aware of what was happening on the fringes of the fringes at the time. Malcolm McLaren was virtually unknown, and having short hair made you seem strange. Who knew then that rock music, which had taken a very bad turn since the early 1970s, would once again become an essential element of liberation? That, thanks to short and fast songs, it would once again rediscover that primitive, social side that was so hated by older generations? Who knew that, besides a few loners who read the music press (it was even better if they read it in English) and frequented the right record stores? Many of these formed bands, because it was impossible to do otherwise. We quickly went from listening to the Velvet Underground to trying to play the Stooges’ intros. It’s a somewhat collective story, even though there weren’t many people to start it.
The Guilty Razors were among those who took part in this initial upheaval in Paris. They were far from being the worst. They had something special and even released a single that was well above the national average. They also had enough songs to fill an album, the one you’re holding. In everyone’s opinion, they were definitely not among the punk impostors that followed in their wake. They were, at least, genuine and credible.

Guilty Razors, Parisian punk band (1975-1978). To understand something about their somewhat linear but very energetic sound, we might need to talk about the context in which it was born and, more broadly, recall the boredom (a theme that would become capital in punk songs) coupled with the desire to blow everything off, which were the basis for the formation of bands playing a rejuvenated rock music ; about the passion for a few records by the Kinks or the early Who, by the Stooges, by the Velvet mostly, which set you apart from the crowd.
And of course, we should remember this new wave, which was promoted by a few articles in the specialized press and some cutting-edge record stores, coming from New York or London, whose small but powerful influence could be felt in Paris and in a handful of isolated places in the provinces, lulled to sleep by so many appalling things, from Tangerine Dream to President Giscard d’Estaing...
In 1975-76, French music was, as almost always, in a sorry state ; it was still dominated by Johnny Hallyday and Sylvie Vartan. Local rock music was also rather bleak, apart from Bijou and Little Bob who tried to revive this small scene with poorly sound-engineered gigs played to almost no one.
In the working class suburbs at the time, it was mainly hard rock music played to 11 that helped people forget about their gruelling shifts at the factory. Here and there, on the outskirts of major cities, you still could find a few rockers with sideburns wearing black armbands since the death of Gene Vincent, but it wasn’t a proper mass movement, just a source of real danger to anyone they came across who wasn't like them. In August 1976, a festival unlike any other took place in Mont-de-Marsan – the First European Punk Festival as the poster said – with almost as many people on stage as in the audience. Yet, on that day, a quasi historical event happened, when, under the blazing afternoon sun, a band of unknowns called The Damned made an unprecedented noise in the arena, reminiscent of the chaotic Stooges in their early adolescence. They were the first genuine punk band to perform in our country: from then on, anything was possible, almost anything seemed permissible.

It makes sense that the four+1 members of Guilty Razors, who initially amplified acoustic guitars with crappy tape recorder microphones, would adopt punk music (pronounced paink in French) naturally and instinctively, since it combines liberating noise with speed of execution and – crucially – a very healthy sense of rebellion (the protesters of May 1968 proclaimed, and it was even a slogan, that they weren’t against old people, but against what had made them grow old. In the mid-1970s, it seemed normal and obvious that old people should now ALSO be targeted!!!).
At the time, the desire to fight back, and break down authority and apathy, was either red or black, often taking the form of leafleting, tumultuous general assemblies in the schoolyard, and massive or shabby demonstrations, most of the time overflowing with an exciting vitality that sometimes turned into fights with the riot police. Indeed, soon after the end of the Vietnam War and following Pinochet’s coup in Chile, all over France, Trotskyist and anarcho-libertarian fervour was firmly entrenched among parts of the educated youth population, who were equally rebellious and troublemakers whenever they had the chance. It should also be noted that when the single "Anarchy in the UK" was first heard, even though not many of us had access to it, both the title and its explosive sound immediately resonated with some of those troublemakers crying out for ANARCHY!!! Meanwhile, the left-wing majority still equated punks with reckless young neo-Nazis. Of course, the widely circulated photos in the mainstream press of Siouxsie Sioux with her swastikas didn’t necessarily help to win over the theorists of the Great Revolution. It took Joe Strummer to introduce The Clash as an anti-racist, anti-fascist and anti-ignorance band for the rejection of old-school revolutionaries to fade a little.

The Lycée Jean-Baptiste Say at Porte d’Auteuil, despite being located in the very posh and very exclusive 16th arrondissement of Paris, didn’t escape these "committed" upheavals, which doubled as the perfect outlet for the less timid members of this generation.
“Back then, politics were fun,” says Tristam Nada, who studied there and went on to become Guilty Razors’ frontman. “Jean-Baptiste was the leftist high-school in the neighbourhood. When the far right guys from the GUD came down there, the Communist League guys from elsewhere helped us fight them off.”
Anything that could challenge authority was fair game and of course, strikes for just about any reason would lead to increasingly frequent truancy (with a definitive farewell to education that would soon follow). Tristam Nada spent his 10th and 11th unfinished grades with José Perez, who had come from Spain, where his father, a janitor, had been sentenced to death by Franco. “José steered my tastes towards solid acts such as The Who. Like most teenagers, I had previously absorbed just about everything that came my way, from Yes to Led Zeppelin to Genesis. I was exploring… And then one day, he told me that he and his brother Carlos wanted to start a rock band.” The Perez brothers already played guitar. “Of course, they were Spanish!”, jokes their singer. “Then, somewhat reluctantly, José took up the bass and we were soon joined by Jano – who called himself Jano Homicid – who took up the rhythm guitar.” Several drummers would later join this core of not easily intimidated young guys who didn’t let adversity get the better of them.

The first rehearsals of the newly named Guilty Razors took place in the bedroom of a Perez aunt. There, the three rookies tried to cover a few standards, songs that often were an integral part of their lives. During a first, short gig, in front of a bewildered audience of tough old-school rockers, they launched into a clunky version of the Velvet Underground's “Heroin”. Challenge or recklessness? A bit of both, probably… And then, step by step, their limited repertoire expanded as they decided to write their own songs, sung in a not always very accurate or academic English, but who cared about proper grammar or the right vocabulary, since what truly mattered was to make the words sound as good as possible while playing very, very fast music? And spitting out those words in a language that left no doubt as to what it conveyed mattered as well.
Trying their hand a the kind of rock music disliked by most of the neighbourhood, making noise, being fiercely provocative: they still belonged to a tiny clique who, at this very moment, had chosen to impose this difference. And there were very few places in France or elsewhere, where one could witness the first stirrings of something that wasn’t a trend yet, let alone a movement.

In the provinces, in late 1976 or early 1977, there couldn’t be more than thirty record stores that were a bit more discerning than average, where you could hear this new kind of short-haired rock music called “punk”. The old clientele, who previously had no problem coming in to buy the latest McCartney or Aerosmith LP, now felt a little less comfortable there…
In Paris, these enlightened places were quite rare and often located nex to what would become the Forum des Halles, a big shopping mall. Between three aging sex workers, a couple of second-hand clothes shops, sellers of hippie paraphernalia and small fashion designers, the good word was loudly spread in two pioneering places – propagators of what was still only a new underground movement. Historically, the first one was the Open Market, a kind of poorly, but tastefully stocked cave. Speakers blasted out the sound of sixties garage bands from the Nuggets compilation (a crucial reference for José Perez) or the badly dressed English kids of Eddie and the Hot Rods. This black-painted den was opened a few years earlier by Marc Zermati, a character who wasn’t always in a sunny disposition, but always quite radical in his (good) choices and his opinions. He founded the independent label Skydog and was one of the promoters of the Mont-de-Marsan punk festivals. Not far from there was Harry Cover, another store more in tune with the new New York scene, which was amply covered in the house fanzine, Rock News (even though it was in it that the photos of the Sex Pistols were first published in France).
It was a favorite hang-out of the Perez brothers and Tristam Nada, as the latter explained. “It’s at Harry Cover’s that we first heard the Pistols and Clash’s 45s, and after that, we decided to start writing our first songs. If they could do it, so could we!”
The sonic shocks that were “Anarchy in the UK”, “White Riot” or the Buzzcocks’s EP, “Spiral Scratch” – which Guilty Razors' sound is reminiscent of – were soon to be amplified by an unparalleled visual shock. In April 1977, right after the release of their first LP, The Clash performed at the Palais des Glaces in Paris, during a punk night organised by Marc Zermati. For many who were there, it was the gig of a lifetime…
Of course, Guilty Razors and Tristam were in the audience: “That concert was fabulous… We Parisian punks were almost all dressed in black and white, with white shirts, skinny leather ties, bikers jackets or light jackets, etc. The Clash, on the other hand, wore colourful clothes. Well, the next day, at the Gibus, you’d spot everyone who had been at this concert, but they weren’t wearing anything black, they were all wearing colours.”

It makes sense to mention the Gibus club, as Guilty Razors often played there (sometimes in front of a hostile audience). It was also the only place in Paris that regularly scheduled new Parisian or Anglo-Saxon acts, such as Generation X, Siouxsie and the Banshees, the Slits, and Johnny Thunders who would become a kind of messed-up mascot for the venue. A little later, in 1978, the Rose Bonbon – formerly the Nashville – also attracted nightly owls in search of electric thrills… In 1977, the iconic but not necessarily excellent Asphalt Jungle often played at the Gibus, sometimes sharing the bill with Metal Urbain, the only band whose aura would later transcend the French borders (“I saw them as the French Sex Pistols,” said Geoff Travis, head of their British label Rough Trade). Already established in this small scene, Metal Urbain helped the young and restless Guilty Razors who had just arrived. Guitarist for Metal Urbain Hermann Schwartz remembers it: “They were younger than us, we were a bit like their mentors even if it’s too strong a word… At least they were credible. We thought they were good, and they had good songs which reminded of the Buzzcocks that I liked a lot. But at some point, they started hanging out with the Hells Angels. That’s when we stopped following them.”

The break-up was mutual, since, Guilty Razors, for their part, were shocked when they saw a fringe element of the audience at Metal Urbain concerts who repeatedly shouted “Sieg Heil” and gave Nazi salutes. These provocations, even still minor (the bulk of the skinhead crowd would later make their presence felt during concerts), weren’t really to the liking of the Perez brothers, whose anti-fascist convictions were firmly rooted. Some things are non-negotiable.
A few months earlier (in July 1978), Guilty Razors had nevertheless opened very successfully for Metal Urbain at the Bus Palladium, a more traditonally old-school rock night-club. But, as was sometimes the case back then, the night turned into a mass brawl when suburban rockers came to “beat up punks”.

Back then, Parisian nights weren’t always sweet and serene.

So, after opening as best as they could for The Jam (their sound having been ruined by the PA system), our local heroes were – once again – met outside by a horde of greasers out to get them. “Thankfully,” says Tristam, “we were with our roadies, motorless bikers who acted as a protective barrier. We were chased in the neighbouring streets and the whole thing ended in front of a bar, with the owner coming out with a rifle…”
Although Tristam and the Perez brothers narrowly escaped various, potentially bloody, incidents, they weren’t completely innocent of wrongdoing either. They still find amusing their mugging of two strangers in the street for example (“We were broke and we simply wanted to buy tickets for the Heartbreakers concert that night,” says Tristam). It so happened that their victims were two key figures in the rock business at the time: radio presenter Alain Manneval and music publisher Philippe Constantin. They filed a complaint and sought monetary compensation, but somehow the band’s manager, the skilful but very controversial Alexis, managed to get the complaint withdrawn and Guilty Razors ended up signing with Constantin with a substantial advance.

They also signed with Polydor and the label released in 1978 their only three-track 45, featuring “I Don't Wanna be A Rich”, “Hurts and Noises” and “Provocate” (songs that exuded perpetual rebellion and an unquenchable desire for “class” confrontation). It was a very good record, but due to a lack of promotion (radio stations didn’t play French artists singing in English), it didn’t sell very well. Only 800 copies were allegedly sold and the rest of the stock was pulped… Initially, the three tracks were to be included on a LP that never came to be, since they were dropped by Polydor (“Let’s say we sometimes caused a ruckus in their offices!” laughs Tristam.) In order to perfect the long-awaited LP, the band recorded demos of other tracks. There was a cover of Pink Floyd's “Lucifer Sam” from the Syd Barrett era – proof of an enduring love for the sixties’ greats –, “Wake Up” a hangover tale and “Bad Heart” about the Baader-Meinhof gang, whose actions had a profound impact on the era and on a generation seeking extreme dissent... On the album you’re now discovering, you can also hear five previously unreleased tracks recorded a bit later during an extended and freezing stay in Madrid, in a makeshift studio with the invaluable help of a drummer also acting as sound engineer. He was both an enthusiastic old hippie and a proper whizz at sound engineering. Here too, certain influences from the fifties and sixties (Link Wray, the Troggs) are more than obvious in the band’s music.

Shortly after a final stormy and rather barbaric (on the audience’s side) “Punk night” at the Olympia in June 1978, Tristam left the band ; his bandmates continued without him for a short while.

But like most pioneering punk bands of the era, Guilty Razors eventually split up for good after three years (besides once in Spain, they’d only played in Paris). The reason for ceasing business activities were more or less the same for everyone: there were no venues outside one’s small circuit to play this kind of rock music, which was still frightening, unknown, or of little interest to most people. The chances of recording an LP were virtually null, since major labels were only signing unoriginal but reassuring sub-Téléphone clones, and the smaller ones were only interested in progressive rock or French chanson for youth clubs. And what about self-production? No one in our small safety-pinned world had thought about it yet. There wasn’t enough money to embark on that sort of venture anyway.

So yes, the early days of punk in France were truly No Future!

Ashley Tindall, AKA Skeptical, returns in peak form with Blimp EP — the fourth release on his Rubi Records imprint — delivering four meticulously crafted cuts of uncompromising drum & bass.

Opening with the title track, Blimp sets the tone with a deep, steppy wobbler that nods subtly to the title track from his second Rubi Records release, Capsize EP. All the signature Skeptical hallmarks are here: hypnotic, pared-back metronomic drums and shimmy-inducing, undulating subs that demand movement. Yet this time there's a noticeable shift — warm, underlying melodic pads bring an unexpected emotional depth. It's not dreamy, but it is more introspective than we're used to, showing another layer to his sonic palette.

So Good flips the script entirely. A dark, cinematic growler, it leans into ghosted vocal fragments and a futuristic film-noir aesthetic. Tense, claustrophobic rhythms and sinister textures create an unsettling atmosphere — tailor-made for those lights-out, pressure-heavy dancefloor moments.

Third comes the undeniable monster of the EP, Technology. Trademark "stink-face" Skeppiness is in full effect from the first bar. Disjointed sci-fi stabs and eerie pads collide with clinical, almost militaristic drum programming, all anchored by a devastatingly weighty bassline. Movement isn't optional — this is pure Skeptical, uncompromising and lethal.

Closing the EP is Bad Generation, a sound system–influenced weapon that finds Skeptical operating at his dubwise best. Fusing minimal D&B with heavyweight, roots-inspired rhythms is no easy task, but here it's executed with effortless authority. It's equally suited to shelling down a rave or getting lost in a deep, eyes-closed session.

Four tracks. Four distinct moods. 100% Skeptical.
Blimp EP confirms once again that his sound continues to evolve — sharper, deeper, and more refined with every release.

Support: Ben UFO, Joy Orbison, Gilles Peterson, dBridge, Break, DLR, Doc Scott, Mefjus, Kasra, Kings of the Rollers, Alix Perez, Jubei, Dub Phizix, Flight, Tasha, Loxy, Lens.

Andy Riley and Laurence Ritchie are Drop Music accomplices; the label is a natural outgrowth of yesterday's Smokescreen Soundsystem, one of the oldest and best-respected UK crews to endorse (sound-) systems thinking. In case you don't know, remember this: they were early 90s stanchions of pressure-dropping UK house heft. This rare new reissue hears their hugely in-demand classic 'Party Criminals' return to fully swung, gatecrashing mode. And boy, weren't they just. Their fourth ever Drop drop, it first surfaced in 1999 and turned instant heads for its crystalline blue inners and jacking, organic sound, not to mention a cameo from fellow duo Freaked on the A2's 'Rhythm By Nature'. But our favourite has to be 'Make Me Feel' with its soft-attack hi-hats, not tapping, more fizzing like metal leaf against the ears.

Tirakat brings together Jakarta-based trio Ali and Lebanese composer and multi instrumentalist Charif Megarbane in a collaboration rooted in long histories of cultural exchange between Indonesia and the Arab world. Ali are known for blending 1970s Indonesian psychedelic funk with Orkes Melayu, disco grooves, and Arab melodic forms, while Megarbane’s extensive catalogue has consistently explored similar cross-regional currents through jazz, library music, and Mediterranean-influenced arrangements. What connects the two is not genre alone, but a shared musical vocabulary shaped by overlapping histories, references, and lived cultural continuities.
The relationship between Indonesia and the Arab world stretches back over a thousand years, forged through Indian Ocean trade routes that carried not only goods, but languages, belief systems, instruments, and musical ideas. These exchanges were gradually absorbed into local traditions rather than replacing them. In Indonesia, Arabic musical elements entered through devotional practices and ensemble formats such as Gambus, Qasidah, and Orkes Melayu, where maq?m-derived melodic structures were adapted into local tuning systems and performance styles. Over time, these sounds became embedded within Indonesian popular music, shaping genres such as dangdut and informing a wider sonic landscape that remains audible today.

Berlin Based DJ & Producer Johannes Klingebiel returns to Claptrap with “Dolce” a four-track EP served sweet, rich, and ready for peak-time indulgence.

Three original cuts and a heavyweight remix combine for a release that’s equal parts playful and potent. Consider this your sugar rush warning.

The title track, “Dolce,” is a warm and irresistible disco-house groover. Creamy acoustic drums lay the foundation while spicy xylophones and syrupy flute lines weave through the mix, striking a perfect balance between sophistication and pure dancefloor pleasure. It’s smooth, infectious, and built to move bodies.

Next up, “Follow The Line” blends shuffled house rhythms with 303 basslines and grainy vocal stabs. On paper, it’s an unlikely combination, on the floor, it locks tight. The result is hypnotic, driving, and effortlessly smooth.

On the flip, “Pink Forest” ventures into more mysterious territory. Built around an elusive, shifting time signature (one that even jazz-trained drummer Johannes struggles to explain), the track somehow feels both unpredictable and deeply groovy. It bends perception without losing momentum, a heady but danceable excursion into the unknown.

Closing the EP, Sun Damage delivers a remix of “Follow The Line” that both sharpens and distorts the original’s trajectory. Chunkier, weightier, and slightly off-kilter, this rework injects a tougher edge while maintaining the track’s hypnotic core, primed for late-night floors and heavy systems.

“Dolce” is indulgent yet refined, a release that balances musicality with movement, sweetness with punch.
Consume responsibly.

Between flesh and silicon. “Under My Skin” (2026) is the first album by IADI, released by Neo Life. A record like few
others, highly conceptual, cover art included. Its essence lies in the folds of the increasingly ambiguous relationship
between man and machine, where the former designs the latter and, perhaps without fully realizing it, is gradually
destined to adapt and be reprogrammed by it. Each track of “Under My Skin” is, in fact, a sort of interface, connector, or
any other imaginative point of contact between two creative phases, amid emotional impulses and binary calculations.
The sonic architecture oscillates between analog warmth and algorithmic coldness, constructing landscapes in which
pulsating synthesizers and mechanical rhythms seem to question each other. There's no linear narrative, but rather a
progressive immersion in a zone of near-friction, where the comfort of technology coexists with more than a faint
musical uneasiness, like a background noise that never ceases to remind you who's truly in charge. In “Under My Skin”,
the machine is neither an enemy nor a simple instrument: it's a real presence, intimate, even tactile, amplifying desires,
fears, and dreams of dawns beyond the digital realm. Intelligent dance music. Less noise, more sensations. Electronic,
but profoundly human.
The final result, then, is a music project that speaks to the present, yet sounds like an X-ray of the future, capturing that
fragile moment when humanity and technology stop observing each other from afar and begin to merge, track after
track. It's no coincidence that IADI's album opens with “Impulse”, an immediate expression of an electrical impulse, for
both humans and machines, which is also the language of the nervous system, as fast as it is vital—pure energy and
rhythm, a track as intense as it is irregular. And after this introduction, it's the turn of the equally erratic “Axon”, whose
title describes the neuron that transmits the signal over distance, telling the listener to sit back and relax for a new
journey through the notes toward the more melodic “Cortex”. The cerebral cortex, the ultimate seat of thought and
memory, becomes the source from which the musical flow of the first part of the work is drawn.
Then, suddenly, an automatic, or instinctive, response to the constant succession of impulses: “Reflex”, or zerotemperature techno, with a fragmented pace, featuring vocal samples, breaks, and restarts. In the producer's
imagination, the subsequent, and conversely placid, “Neuron” represents the emotional core of the second part of the
work, providing a kind of respite from the seething vibrations. While the neuron is the basic unit of the nervous system,
the synapse is the functional connection point between one neuron and another effector cell, essential for the
transmission of nerve impulses and communication in the nervous system, enabling functions such as learning and
movement. Likewise, a track like “Synapse” once again illuminates the path traced by IADI. The more experimental and
streamlined “Static” instead suggests true ordered chaos. “Dreamstate” is the conclusion suspended in the void, relating
to that dreamlike state between waking and sleeping, where consciousness fades toward infinity and visions begin. Pure
fading into the subconscious. Eternal return to where it all began. Dancing is a form of consciousness. Every beat is a
question. IADI, however, holds all the answers you need.

In the heart of an ancient forest deep in Europe, the Council, a secretive assembly of goblins and trolls, convenes under the light of the dancefloor. These beings, often misunderstood by the outside world, harness the power of music and sound to weave potent magick. Their rituals, held on hidden sound systems resonate with the echoes of nature. As the goblins fiddle their enchanted samplers and the trolls beat their massive drumbreaks, the air shimmers with vibrant energy. drawing the attention of mystical forces. Bound by ancient traditions, the Council safeguards the balance of the hardcore.

Virga III ist der dritte Teil von Eluviums inspirierter Experimentalserie - und der erste seit fast fünf Jahren. Im unverkennbaren Gegensatz zu der dichten, bedrohlichen Ausdehnung von Virga II bieten die Werke, aus denen Virga III besteht, eine fast göttliche Atempause. Die nervöse Spannung, der Kontrollverlust und die geduldige Rekontextualisierung, die jeden Teil der Virga-Serie inspirieren, zeigen sich auf einzigartige Weise. Die Songs auf Virga III wurden wie immer von Cooper komponiert und gespielt, aber im Virga-Universum empfindet er im Grunde genommen eine einzigartige Zusammenarbeit mit sich selbst. Wie Cooper erklärt: ,Die Virga-Reihe gibt mir die Möglichkeit, zu einer älteren Version meiner selbst zurückzukehren, aber mit einem neuen Verständnis. Ich übe mich in mehr Geduld im Umgang mit diesen konstruierten musikalischen Systemen und Aufnahmen und duettiere zögerlich mit meinem früheren Ich in einer neuen Performance oder manipulativen Ebene, aber erst, nachdem ich die erste so lange wie möglich verdaut habe, bis sie neue und unbekannte Gefühle hervorruft, in der Hoffnung, ein Gefühl von therapeutischer Selbstwahrnehmung und Entdeckung zu entwickeln. Eine Mischung aus der explorativen Denkweise und einer malerischen emotionalen Resonanz, die sich allmählich zu sich selbst entfaltet."

Antônio Carlos & Jocafi, das legendäre Duo aus Bahia, dessen Musik seit über fünf Jahrzehnten den Soul Brasiliens verkörpert, kehrt mit einer kühnen neuen Zusammenarbeit zurück: Jazz Is Dead 026. Beto Barreto von Baiana System stellte Adrian Younge und Ali Shaheed Muhammad vor, und die Begegnung war sofort von Magie geprägt. ,Als wir uns zum ersten Mal trafen, war es wie bei einer Familie", erinnern sie sich. Diese Verbundenheit veranlasste Younge und Muhammad, das Duo nach Los Angeles einzuladen, wo sie eine Handvoll Ideen mitbrachten und vor Ort neue Songs schufen - ein intuitiver, improvisatorischer Prozess, der die Philosophie von Jazz Is Dead ausmacht. Mit dieser Veröffentlichung bekräftigen Antônio Carlos & Jocafi ihre kreative Vitalität und bringen gleichzeitig einer neuen Generation ihren zeitlosen bahianischen Geist näher. ,Adrians Liebe zu Brasilien ist größer als die vieler Brasilianer", sagen sie und betonen, wie aufmerksam er zuhört, studiert und die Rhythmen, Geschichten und Gefühle ihrer Kultur vermittelt. Das Ergebnis ist ein Album, das eine Brücke zwischen dem Mercado Modelo in Salvador und der globalen Bühne schlägt und die folkloristischen Traditionen Bahias mit der analogen Seele von Jazz Is Dead verwebt.

Antônio Carlos & Jocafi, das legendäre Duo aus Bahia, dessen Musik seit über fünf Jahrzehnten den Soul Brasiliens verkörpert, kehrt mit einer kühnen neuen Zusammenarbeit zurück: Jazz Is Dead 026. Beto Barreto von Baiana System stellte Adrian Younge und Ali Shaheed Muhammad vor, und die Begegnung war sofort von Magie geprägt. ,Als wir uns zum ersten Mal trafen, war es wie bei einer Familie", erinnern sie sich. Diese Verbundenheit veranlasste Younge und Muhammad, das Duo nach Los Angeles einzuladen, wo sie eine Handvoll Ideen mitbrachten und vor Ort neue Songs schufen - ein intuitiver, improvisatorischer Prozess, der die Philosophie von Jazz Is Dead ausmacht. Mit dieser Veröffentlichung bekräftigen Antônio Carlos & Jocafi ihre kreative Vitalität und bringen gleichzeitig einer neuen Generation ihren zeitlosen bahianischen Geist näher. ,Adrians Liebe zu Brasilien ist größer als die vieler Brasilianer", sagen sie und betonen, wie aufmerksam er zuhört, studiert und die Rhythmen, Geschichten und Gefühle ihrer Kultur vermittelt. Das Ergebnis ist ein Album, das eine Brücke zwischen dem Mercado Modelo in Salvador und der globalen Bühne schlägt und die folkloristischen Traditionen Bahias mit der analogen Seele von Jazz Is Dead verwebt.